The Dead Can't Testify
by co-operators
Summary: This is the story of the 34th annual Hunger Games, an unforgettable tale of friendship, fighting, and betrayal. Learn the stories of 24 different individuals, who may be fighting for different causes, but they're all fighting for the same goal: To win the Hunger Games. *Collaboration Fanfic, details inside*
1. District One Reapings

**(Not) Author's Note: Okay, so, Hi! I'm BeccaBlaze, and I didn't work on either of these chapters, but I am writing this A|N to just say thanks for checking out our story... We'll try to update twice a week but in a collaboration project this is kinda hard to do, especially when people don't get their chapters to me in time. I guess you could say I'm sort of the captain of this brigade, because it was my idea, but we all share equal power. Reviews mean the world to our authors, I'm just putting that out there ;)**

**So the tribute that wins the games is based of author reliability, character chance, and whichever tribute the fans like best! Once all the reaping chapters are up, you can vote on the character poll on our page! That's that, so enjoy the District One reaping, with the hot-tempered Aenoa Startina, and the... ****_Interesting_**** Darian Fo!**

* * *

Happy Hunger Games. Doh.

By: Pearlythebird

**Darian Fo, Age 15, District One**

* * *

_ "Sometimes, you feel like you need to do something stupid so people know who you are,_

_but then people only know you_

_as someone who did something stupid."_

_-Anonymous _

* * *

"Gooood mooorniing Darian" says my parrot, Killer. Of course, its not really morning, its the night before the 34th reaping. I'm already up, pacing the bamboo floors of my bedroom. My mother has a strange obsession with bamboo, and nearly everything in our house is made of it.

Today I am finally going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I have been training since I was 10 years old, been able to kill at such a young age. People said that it was sad how I wasted my life, but it's not over. Not until I am crowned victor. They'll see, I won't have wasted my life when I come home, surrounded with riches, and knowing that people will finally respect me. "Goooood morning!" Killer repeats, bringing me back to my senses. I know I should be getting last minute training, but I know that after preparing for 5 years, I'm as ready as I will ever be. Also, my mother will kill me if I get my good clothes dirty. "Goood-" "Shut up, will you?" I shriek at the top of my lungs.

Reaping. Reaping. That is the only word that I can think about. Today is the day I can get my hands on those shining weapons in the training center, show people how good I really am. "Come on people, don't you want to see me volunteer?" My parents scramble down the polished bamboo staircase and walk out of the house with me. Only they know that they will never walk with me again. At least if they do, it won't be the same. When I come back, I won't just be their "little baby boy". I will be a killer just like my parrot. Only he kills flies.

We are herded like sheep into little sections organized by age. Then Curt Towerpew walks onto the stage in his silly capital get-up. He looks like a llama every year, because apparently llamas are a symbol of luxury in the capital. He tells a few corny jokes about llamas and everyone laughs, even though they aren't funny. District 1 actually treats the games as a festivity, mainly because we usually win. Curt then proceeds to show a lame video about the uprisings and how terrible they were. Of course I think they sound awesome! I would be one of the few people, who didn't die, but got to have fun killing. Just like the Hunger Games.

"Now!" Curt Towerpew says very seriously, "Let the games begin!" Its funny, the way that he says it, it sounds like a question. Honestly, he could probably get fired for saying that. He walks over to the girls reaping ball and pulls out a name, his hand-claws looking for the perfect prey. "Sanatos Silicos". At that, about 20 other girls sprint up to the stage, but only one reaches it first. "Aeona Startina. 14."

She is drop dead gorgeous. Her short strawberry blonde hair frames her pale, heart shaped face, and her eyes, a beautiful sea foam green- snap out of it Darian! You're going to miss your chance! "Jordan S-" Before he can even finish reading the name, I'm up on the stage, wrestling another boy off. "Darian Fo. 15.". "Congratulations to our tributes of the 34th annual hunger games! Lets have a big round of applause for our brave volunteers!". As the crowd cheers, I keep glancing over at Aeona. She has a smug look on her face the whole time, but keeps shooting me disgusted glances. I wonder why. Aren't I just as gorgeous as she is?

Then Curt whisks us off the stage and into the Justice building.

* * *

To The Sky

By: cookiethecat

**Aeona Startina, age 14, District 1**

* * *

_"To the sky_

_From the Earth_

_In lofty flight_

_Softly now, with the dawn_

_I will ride with the wind_

_O'er the hills_

_through the mist_

_On the wings of thee."_

_-Carl Strommen: To the Sky_

* * *

Each morning I wake at 4, so today is no different. But it is, I think to myself. Today is the day I prove my worth; mine and my family's. Today is the day I finally get to shine. Today is the day I volunteer for the Hunger Games.

I tiptoe quietly down the stairs, so as not to wake the orphanage director, Mrs. Sandley, a fat, stupid woman who couldn't tell the difference between a cobra and a lima bean. She's been the director for as long as I've been here, ever since my family was killed by Peacekeepers when I was four. They were accused of being "spies", which I know isn't true- all that matters is that they took my chance for a happy, normal life away from me.

After successfully making it out the door, I figure I have about four hours for training. You see, I've been practicing since I was ten, every day in the morning, and I'm sure my skills are some of the best in the district. Before my back-breaking exercises, I grab an apple from the orphanage's "mess hall" and head to my tree, a beautiful, slender oak on the orphanage's property which has a perfect spot for me to sit. I jump onto its sturdy frame, and watch quietly while the sun rises. A new day, they say the sunrise symbolizes. I say it symbolizes endurance, love, and justice. What my family deserved. What they didn't get. What I deserved. What they tore away from me when I was a little child. What I will earn.

Nostalgy done, I jump off and harden myself for three and a half hours of brutal training. Off the bat, I take my hard-won training knives and throw them onto the trees, running while doing so. After about 15 minutes in, I stop to inspect them. Bullseye in all except 1. Not bad, getting better. I practice again 3 times, until I can get bullseye in all of them. Next up, strength. I'm already sweating like a cow in slaughter season.

People say men are stronger than women. That is not true. I could beat all of those brainless doofs at the training center every day and any day. Anywho, I use my hands to try to lift myself up and onto the tree. I haven't quite been able to do that yet, and today is no different. After at least 50 tries, I stop. But I'm getting there.

After a few mix and jumbles of various other activities, I look at the time and find I've missed my deadline by far. I race back to the orphanage, hoping to miss Mrs. Sandley. Well, thank you, Universe. When I come in, all 5 feet of wrinkles, gray hair, stupid skirts, and giant glasses of Mrs. Sandley, hands on her hips, are standing right in front of me. "Young lady, you are in serious trouble. No meals today for you. Get out of your stinky clothes and head down to my office showered and dressed for Reaping day. You'd better have a seriously good explanation for this." Good luck with that. When I win the Hunger Games, you'll be the first one I kill, stupid. Evil and twisted thoughts run through my head as I smile and Mrs. Sandley sniffs and fans herself with her hands, muttering something about stupid children and walking away, extra fat jiggling all around.

* * *

When I get dressed for the Reaping, I am extra careful. This is how people in the Capitol will see me. This is how they'll see their victor. If things had been different, it would've been Mom that did this for me today. My whole family would've been congratulating me, cheering me on. This thought saddens me, and for a moment, I'm not the tough little orphan anymore. I'm the poor little girl who never knew what it felt like to be loved, and wished more than anything to have a family. With a firm tug on my hair, I jolt out of my daydreams and carefully french braid my hair and slip on an ugly, no doubt used frock, smeared with dust and with a gash at the knee, something that once was a beautiful shade of light pink. Ugh, I think in disgust. This is the only things those bratty, spoiled little fatties will give to the orphanage. Without much more to do, I look at myself one last time in the mirror, and for the first time, notice how, oddly enough, I look quite a lot like my sister, part of my family that died that same day with Mom and Dad. My green eyes, strawberry blonde hair, fragile-looking build, and slender frame, are all just how I remember Karolanne. Outside, sun shines through a circle of clouds, almost as if my family in heaven was showing me that they always watched, would always be by my side.

With one longing look at the room I will never walk into again, I head out the door, and already begin imagining how I will design my house in Victor's Village. Of course, there is the chance I may not win, but I completely disregard that nasty thought and push it to the back of my head. The only thing I can think about is my district partner, and what I'll do if he's a big doofus like everyone else. Ugh. I might have to kill him before the games even start. Of course, that's another advantage I have. When I was 7, I killed the Peacekeeper that killed my family and learned how to use his gun. Of course, nobody thought for a moment that it would be poor, family-less Aeona that'd brutally maimed the Peacekeeper. I'll show them. Now if I could only get a gun in the Arena...

When I make it to the town center, I realize I forgot to "report to Mrs. Sandley's office." Whatever. It isn't as if I'm going to see her again anyways. I offhandedly fiddle with my dress as I think about the Games. Being one of the first people there, I sit down far away from everyone else and into the shade; it's only about 10 o'clock but already burning hot. What will I bring as a token? My thoughts drift away and I fall into a slow, half-slumber state. Other people will bring what their family has given them, I will bring what I have left of my family. My memories, my feelings, my thoughts. It's the intangible things that matter most.

* * *

A loud noise jolts me awake. All of a sudden, I am crowded by other 14 year old females. Ughh, Reaping time must be near. Wiping the hair off my face, I stand up and face the stage, only to find our escort,Curt Towerpew. He is dressed as a llama, as usual. Why? He claims "llamas are a sign of true luxury in the capital. His suit is every shade of color imaginable, and along with a thousand laces, ruffles, and sequins, drags on the ground with him. Not appropriate. He is a boyyyI take one look and turn around to cover my eyes, thinking, Seizure!

In mere minutes, Curt's sharp voice rings out. "Welcome, everyone, to the 34th Hunger Games! Aren't we all excited?" The district claps half heartedly, all waiting for the Reaping itself to begin. Then, we watch 'The Video', the one about how the Games were created and why we have them, blah dee blah blah. I have a hard time believing anyone watches that anymore. "Now, for the male tribute," Towerpew purrs.

Anywho, his clawed fingers find a slip of paper, and he trills, "Jordan S-" Before he has even finished, an ugly looking boy struts onto the stage, and with an air of superiority, shouts, " I volunteer! Darian Fo, 15," Bleh. Typical career, only this one seems uglier than most. "Now to the girls," Curt is barely keeping a straight face, obviously very disappointed with this year's male's looks. He's a blondie, with sea-green eyes and LOTS of pimples; so many a rat could drown in them. No joke.

Curt pulls out a name, " Sanatos Silicos." He's barely finished before I race up to the stage, along with half the other girls. However, I've practiced doing this, and make it onto the stage just in time. " I volunteer. Aeona Startina. 14." I lift my chin up and my trademark smirk is back on my face. Curt gives me a nod of approval, and shouts, " There we have it, folks! The District 1 tributes for the 34th Hunger Games!" Ugh. His voice is even sharper up close. How do people deal with it? Gah. When I look down, however, half the girls are giving me murderous glares. If looks could kill, I'd have melted into a puddle of human just now. After all, no orphan has ever volunteered. They probably think this honor is wasted on me. My district partner, D something, is giving me a glazed over, moony-eyed look. With one last triumphant glare, I head off the stage and into the Justice building.

* * *

I'm just sitting in this room alone, waiting for the visitors that will never come. I don't know why I bother. It's stupid, sitting in this blank room, waiting for encouragement that I find in the sky. My parents and sister are all the encouragement I'll ever need. Sure, I had a small scatter of friends in the orphanage. They were irrelevant, though, and I don't expect them to come. They don't. Bored out of my mind, I take in my surroundings. A plush, floral rug adorns the floor, and two tapestries cover the otherwise blank walls. One depicts how the Games were created, and another shows a flower blooming. Weird Capitolites. The thread off it seems to unravel, and in the light, gleams like woven gold. Two mahogany tables sit at the sides of my sofa, one supporting a cut crystal lamp, one holding up a beautiful vase with one snow white rose in it. Once again, weird.

"Come on," a Peacekeeper comes to take me to the train. This Peacekeeper is relatively young, in his twenties, and instead of looking at me with disdain, he gives me a soft, almost encouraging smile. For a moment, my hard shell disappears, and I give him a rueful smile back. It really means a lot to me that there is someone out there who doesn't judge me for my past, but determines it from who I am. Then again, it all takes time...

He takes me by the shoulder, and leads me out the building. Before we enter the train, my last look is not at District 1, but at the sky. The sky so vast that will follow me wherever I go, holds all my memories, my few joys and sorrows, and my only reason to live.


	2. District Two Reapings

**A|N: Yo this is BeccaBlaze here with the next chapter and some horrible news. We will be on hiatus until at least early August :(**

**This is because one of the authors didn't finish her chapter and is currently in a place with no wifi so she can't finish writing it nor get it to us until she gets back. You see, we use google-docs to write together. But on the bright side I decided to update earlier so that you would have something to read while we were gone. I actually did write one of these chapters, along with cookiethecat! It's really fabulous to be able to work with such awesome writers on such an awesome fanfiction.**

**Also thank you all for the favorites and reviews! I never expected to have so many by the first chapter! Keep em' comin, they all do wonders for our authors!**

**So, here are the District Two reapings, with the intelligent Ronin Kellferist and the vicious Vera Mindini!**

* * *

So Much To Come Back To

By: cookiethecat

**Ronin Kellferist, age 15, District Two**

* * *

_"True, we love life,_

_not because we are used to living,_

_but because we are used to loving._

_There is always some madness in love,_

_but there is also always_

_some reason in madness."_

_-Petrarch_

* * *

"Bam!" I awake to the sound of my Dad tripping over something big- my guess is the table. Geez, I think, what a nice way to start my last day at home.

Quickly, I get dressed into the plain outfit I'd put out the day before. A gray T-shirt and a pair of jeans.I know Dad is awake already; his footsteps thunder with each step on the creaking floorboards. Raphaella and Pippa, my two six year old little sisters, are still sound asleep. I can tell without even checking; the house isn't filled with screaming- that's sign number one. With one quick swipe, I'm done brushing my teeth and washing my face. I creep down the stairs, able to make it down all the way without being bombarded by mini hugs- sign number two.

"Hey there, bud." Dad doesn't even look up, but waves his hand and gestures towards the root beer float on the table. Oh, I see the bruise on his shin. Ouch. Root beer! Mmm. My favorite. " Thanks, Dad. Gonna go get in a few more hours of practice. Raffie and Pip are still asleep," I yell to my dad from the kitchen. He nods and gives me an affectionate 'shoo' with his hands, and, root beer in hand, I run out the door. Don't get me wrong; I can go for days without food; but as they say, live your life, right?

* * *

Before I reach the Training Center, my float is already done, my fingers sticky. Oh no. I wonder if the Training coaches will mind. Whatever. After heading into the building, I race for the broadswords weaponry. I always use them in combat. The flat, pronged blade is my favorite, but I could also go with butcher's knife for pleasure. After about 1 hour with the swords station, I move onto strength and agility. District 2's Training Center has an amazing agility course. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if people had died in it.

After entering, your body kind of just takes over. All over the ground they've placed boogie traps; one wrong step could get you impaled by a sword/spike , another one squished between two slabs of rock. Then there are rope ladders and bars to swing on, over a pit filled with broken glass. At the end, they have a row of moving dummies that come for you. As always, I pass without breaking a sweat. Honestly, could I be any more prepared for these games?

As I leave the Center to cool off, I see a bunch of first- years looking at me with awe. Of course, I usually have that effect on people. I strut a little, but then of course ruin the whole scene by running into the sword station, knocking over rows and rows of sharp metal weapons. They snicker a little at that, and I guess there's not much I can do about that, and I smile a little too. Hey, just 'cause I'm a Career doesn't mean I don't have a soul or a sense of humor.

Leaving the building, I head over to District 2's 'forest'. Today it seems relatively vacant, all the better for me. I'm really more of a forest-smart person, if it weren't for the fact that I can't sneak around without sounding like a dying buffalo. With one look at the plants on the ground, I manage to identify them all by sight.

American Elderberry. Inner stem used as a painkiller, crushed leaves act as bug repellent.

Dogbane. Applied to wounds, is poisonous when entered into bloodstream. Can be used for fishing lines and bowstrings.

Jewelweed. Edible, can be used for sore mouth and poison ivy.

Pipsissewa. Can dissolve kidney stones, helps diseases of the eye. Can heal sores and blisters.

Virginia Creeper. Stalk and sap can be eaten.

Phew. Plant knowledge still as good as ever. With a little time to spare, I head back home to get ready for the Reapings. As soon as I get through the front door, Raffie and Pip bombard me with hugs and questions.

"Hey, hey Ronin! Can we go to your room? Can we come to the Reapings? Are you gonna volunteer? Can we have breakfast? Do you wear dresses to the Reapings? Are you gonna win the Hunger Games? Are you? Are you?"

"Haha, yep, totally," I laugh as I ruffle Pip's hair and as Raffie climbs onto my back. When I win the Hunger Games, it's totally going to be for them. "Now, I need to go change. Run along, now." Raffie and Pip race off me and then go over to my dad, bouncing up and down, no doubt asking him questions. Dad groans good-naturedly, and looks at me with mock displeasure. I chuckle and race up the stairs into my room.

* * *

My room is pretty simple, for District 2, at least. The walls are painted a dark navy blue, and my plain, wood-carven bed sits in the far right corner. On the walls I have my favorite broadswords and a bunch of medals from training. A garnished wooden desk sits next to my desk, along with a bottle of ink and two lone feather pens. My reapings outfit is already put out beside my bed.

On my bed is a pale, neatly ironed top, and dark dress pants. The sticky note next to it says 'Deal with your hair - Dad'. Of course. Dad insists I gel my hair and get it perfect before the Reapings. I try not to think about it.

After about 5 minutes on my hair, I take a look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Geez. That shirt really doesn't compliment eyes. The pale shirt and my dark blue eyes clash, and kind of make me look a little alienish. My browned hair is painstakingly gelled down, along with that random strip of blonde hair that is just...there. I'm smiling. It really bothers me how I always look like I'm smiling wherever I am. Dad says I inherit my high cheekbones and sharp nose from Mom, and that's why 'I'm always looking so happy and cheerful'. Mom. She died when I was a baby, so I can't really prove Dad wrong, unless if I got a forensic artist to dig her up and draw her face again. Ew. Nope. Just... what will people think when I volunteer with a cheerful face, like a happy little ten year old? Curse you, Mom.

Anywho, done criticizing my face, I go downstairs and give Dad, Raffie, and Pip a big hug each, and head out to the Town Square. The sun is full in the bright blue sky as I reach the Reapings, and my guess is it's about 11:30.

* * *

After being sorted into the corner for the rest of the 15 year old males, I stand at the far edge and scooch as far away from the others as possible; I don't like stranger people. Our escort, Aulf Whenesburo comes onto the stage, looking ridiculous in his sparkly tattoos and hair over a foot above his head. His dark skin enhances the sparkles on his body, and makes him look like a giant diamond. Just one look at him makes my head hurt.

"Helloooo, District Twooo," He drawls in his horribly stupid Capitol accent. The rest of the District cheers with so much enthusiasm Aulf almost seems topple over. We watch 'the video', an old film about why the Hunger Games are, blah dee blah blah. I'd bet all stuff and say that nobody watches that anymore.

As it ends, Aulf runs a hand over his eyes. "Wasn't that beautiful, folks?" He's tearing up, but the rest of the district is just waiting for it to begin. The suspense is choking up the air, and I see a bunch of girls getting ready to run onto stage.

"So, ladies first, shall we?" Aulf croons in an unbearably annoying voice. I roll my eyes. It's always ladies first.

"Gin-" Before Aulf has even finished, a girl I've seen around races ahead of the others and steps up with a prideful look smeared on her features.

"Vera Mindini, age 17," She replies proudly when he asks for her name and age. She isn't a shallow career, I got that much. This is one girl you don't want fight in the Arena. Whatever. It isn't as if I can't beat her.

"Boys next," Aulf trails. I chuckle a little; so many people want to volunteer, but this year it'll be me.

"Ronin Kellferist," Aulf shouts.

Wait, what?

That's me.

Me.

ME.

After the initial shock, I reach the stage a heartbeat before 20 other boys. His mouth is open in an 'I volunteer' shape, but before he makes a sound, I stand up straight and say, "I am Ronin Kellferist. There will be NO volunteers this year."

He yelps a little under my icy stare, and half the other boys scurry back to their places, and from the stage, it looks like a huge receding wave.

"And those are the District 2 tributes for the 34th Hunger Games, folks!" Aulf shouts.

I chuckle again, and Aulf gives me an admiring look. Vera gives me an indifferent glance, but something like respect glints in them. Of course, all that is going to disappear once she sees me trip over my own hands on the train. I don't even know how that's possible. Two Peacekeepers guide us to the Justice building, and I smile as the doors close behind us.

* * *

"Ronin!" Dad, Raffie, and Pip race through the doors and bombard me with hugs. Dad and Raffie are grinning from ear to ear, but I notice Pip is crying.

"Aw, what's wrong, Pip?' I ask her, wiping the tears off her face with my thumb. She sits on my knee and whispers, "You're leaving." Her dark hair hangs over her face, and she entwines her grubby little fingers together. Personally, Pip's always been my favorite. "No, Pip, you don't need to worry," She looks at me, "I'll be back though, Pip," She smiles through her tears, and I smile back. Raffie punches her in the arm, and scolds," Don't be such a crybaby. It's an honor, stupid," Ahh. My two twin sisters, so different, but both so lovable.

"Here," Dad motions as he pulls something out of his pocket. Curious, I look in his hand. He seems to almost be tearing up too. "Your mom left this for me before he dies," he whispers, "She said, "for Ronin when he enters the Hunger Games," He smiles, and I look more closely at the token. It's a small locket on a thin golden chain, holding a picture of Mom, Dad, and little me with baby Raffie and Pip. "Thanks, Dad," I smile at him. I take the locket from his hands and tie the clasp around my neck. I give Pip one last hug before they all walk out with the Peacekeepers.

After they leave, I head onto the train with Vera, but I don't look back. Looking backwards before a journey is bound to bad luck.

So instead, I think. Think about how I have so much to live for, so much to come back to. And I think about how I will win.

* * *

Welcome to the Show

By: BeccaBlaze

**Vera Mindini, Age 17, District Two**

* * *

_"It's a game,_

_I'm glad I'm in it,_

_'Cause there's one born every minute."_

_-Voltaire (When You're Evil)_

* * *

Punch.

Dodge.

Slash.

Kick.

Dodge.

Kill.

It's all just a routine to me, yet a beautiful, thrilling routine. It's all so glorious, so surreal, to be able to fulfill your inner heart's desire, no matter how unpleasant it may be to other people.

I continue to slash my knife at the dummy, even though it's obviously dead. The outer fabric specially designed to replicate the exact thickness of human skin is ripped to shreds on the floor, the stuffing strewn about everywhere in the room. The only downside to fake targets is that they aren't real. Killing real human beings would be so much more fun.

Once I acknowledge that the dummy is now nothing but a pile of ripped up fabric pieces, I stop attacking and admire my work. I try hard to imagine it as a real person in the games, but unfortunately my imagination can only go so far. At least it won't be long until I finally get to do what I've dreamed of for my entire life... Kill for real.

I drop my knives and they clatter to the marble floor. I set out on a practicing with a different weapon, only to realize that I there isn't any time for that.

Quickly, I look down to see what I'm wearing... Nothing special, just a grey tee shirt and sweatpants. Perfect for training in, but not perfect for making a good impression in. A short glance at the clock alerts me that I have just enough time to either look nice and perhaps be late to the reaping, or go looking like crap and make it there early

Oh well, I think, I hope they aren't reaping the ladies first this year.

I silently thank myself for getting into the habit of setting out a nice outfit ahead of time.

My bedroom is just across the hallway from my training room that my parents set up many years ago. It's not decorated very well, but I still like it. The walls are nice and thick, and the windows let in just the right amount of sunlight - not that I need any of course. I quickly slip on the blue dress that I have lying on my bed. It's nice, but not to my liking. The frills pop out at uncomfortable angles, and the lining on the skirt is a wee bit too fancy for my tastes. Also, the skirt is too short, and the neckline is too low, sending out the wrong kind of vibes.

I quietly slip on some stockings and shoes, then a little silver chain necklace, and hustle to the kitchen.

Nobody's home today, mother and father are both at work in the shop. They always go in early, and I suppose they'll meet me at the reapings. They're both blacksmiths, and pretty good ones at that.

Luckily for me, Mother made breakfast and left me a little note. It wasn't much, just the regular reminder to eat, brush my teeth, and not to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I can't begin to comprehend my parent's motives for having me trained for the Hunger Games. They're totally against it, yet they wanted to have me trained and in peak physical condition before every reaping...

Call it paranoia, anxiety, or fear, but all I know is that they never wanted me to go into those games. Of course, they made a fatal mistake when they started training me. The training only heightened my desire to kill, my desire to caress the flesh and blood of another human being between my bony fingers. They only fueled the flame of a crazy ambition - the ambition to slaughter.

I grab some bread from the marble countertop and smother it in strawberry jam, my favorite. My family is fortunate enough to afford delicacies and treats, because of my parents' high salaries. They're hailed as two of the best blacksmiths in the District, so they get a ton of business. It's the reason why they can't be bothered to be home on their daughter's big day.

It's not like I care. I don't see the point of loving other people. It's near impossible for me to accomplish giving any sort of love to anybody. It's not that I don't want to (well I don't now), it's just that I can't.

I can't be bothered to clean up the bread crumbs nor the sticky red jam off the countertop, so I just leave the mess. I adjust my stockings and try to pull my dress down a little further, but it just won't budge.

I walk in silence out of my house. My small feet brush the dirt road and kick up little pieces of dust that cover my fancy black shoes. Nobody is out in the village, so I assume that they've already started to make their way to the reaping.

My suspicions are denied when I hear the rustling bushes next to me, and then out of nowhere I am jumped by a familiar boy. I barely have any time to comprehend what's going on before I punch my 'attacker' in self defence.

He recoils and gives me a bloody grin, "Still as strong as ever... But now my mouth hurts."

I give him a charming fake smile, "It was your own fault. You attacked me, and now you face the consequences."

The annoying brat continues to smile lopsidedly at me, "Hey, what do you think of me volunteering this year."

I give him a quick inspection, mussed up brown hair, untucked and stained shirt - he's obviously not planning on doing anything special or revolutionary this year. We walk together to town square, thankfully not very far from our village.

"Carver, you're thirteen years old. I highly doubt you'd have any chance."

Carver gives me a pouty face, "A boy can dream, can't he? Besides, I always wanted to be able to fight you."

I eye him suspiciously, "What makes you think that I'm going to volunteer this year?"

"Well dummy-" Carver stops mid sentence once he notices my unamused eyes, "I didn't mean that... But you've been training extra hard recently, I can tell."

I raise an eyebrow, not willing to let my plans slip so easily, "And you would know that...?"

"Well, me being your neighbor, rival, friend and all, I do need to check on you every once and awhile. Plus your training room window is facing my house..."

"Friend," I muse to myself. It's the first time the little kid had ever called me his friend, and I'm sure that the feelings of 'friendship' aren't mutual. My insides shudder in disgust at the very thought that Carver, of all people, would consider me his friend. I don't have friends, I don't have a need for them.

We finally reach the town square, and luckily for Carver and me the reapings haven't started, although the lines to enter are only filled with the few stragglers who arrived late. We both join one of the lines, and take the regular identification tests for entry.

Carver and I are both roped off into our respective categories, just before the district escort, Aulf Whenesburo comes onto the stage in his ridiculous capitol get-up. His dark skin is covered in sparkly tattoos, and his hair is spiked up at least a foot off his head.

"Hellooo Diiistrict Twooo," Aulf croones, elongating his words, letting the crowd cheer during his greeting. The sheer enthusiasm that District Two puts into the Hunger Games astounds me. I peer over all the other girls' heads and look at the adult section, scanning for my parents. I don't see them, which is reassuring considering that they probably can't see me.

Aulf drones on and on with his silly speech, and then the 'video' is shown. It's basically a movie about the Capitol, and the revolution, and the districts, and yadda yadda yadda. After six years, it really gets irritating. The least they could do is work on a better movie so that maybe kids over the age of thirteen might pay attention to it.

The video is over, and the projector is dragged away. Anyone in the square could tell you, the feeling of anticipation and excitement was overwhelming. Kids everywhere were waiting for their chance to leap up on the stage, and cry out the words: I volunteer as tribute. Of course, this year, no other girl will get the chance to volunteer. The only girl who is going to utter the words 'I volunteer', will be me, Vera Mindini, future tribute in the 34th annual Hunger Games.

"So, ladies first, shall we?" Aulf says in a sing-songy voice. An ear shattering cheer comes from my section. I don't cheer with the other girls, I need to stay focused. I keep my gaze on the stage, and I don't look away for anything.

Eyes on the prize, I think harshly to myself.

His fingers graze the reaping bowl, and I get ready to make a mad dash to the stage. Aulf's brown, bony hand falls into the glass bowl, he picks up a small slip of white paper, and begins to read the name.

I don't even think, I just do. Running as fast as I can, pushing through the other girls. I don't take my eyes of the stage once, not until I'm finally up there, standing in the spotlight, in front of the entire district.

No turning back.

"I volunteer as tribute for the 34th Hunger Games," I manage to say, before pride overcomes me. I've made it this far.

Aluf gives me a forced smile, and asks me for my name and age.

I give the crowd a sly smile, "Vera Mindini, age 17."

He smiles, and I face the crowd. I try and keep a charming face on the whole time. It's hard to do, but I manage. Just like I always do.

"Boys next," Aulf says in his irritating voice. I can't help but wonder if the person reaped will be one I can easily kill, one I can easily rip and pull and their flesh.

"Ronin Kellferist," is the name called. I look down at the teen dashing up to the stage. He's a muscular fellow, and he has pale skin that doesn't look like it sees the sun too much. It's a shame that someone is likely to volunteer to take his place. He looks like he would be fun to cut open and rip to shreds.

Once Ronin reaches the stage, he booms in a loud voice, "I am Ronin Kellferist. There will be no volunteers this year."

He's gutsy, I'll give him that.

"And those are the District Two tributes for the 34th Hunger Games folks," Aluf shouts. Ronin gives a little chuckle, and I find myself in slight admiration of his pure gumption. I glance over at him and we meet eyes. My grey ones meet his deep blue ones, and I try and read his feelings. Of course, the glance is cut short before I can see anything, by a pair of peacekeepers who gently guide us to the Justice building for our goodbyes.

Tick tock, goes the clock. It will be the ending time for some. Tick tock, goes the clock. I wonder who will come, I quietly hum to myself as I sit alone in the little room. After about five minutes of humming alone, my silent paradise is interrupted by my parents bursting into the room accompanied by three peacekeepers in dainty white uniforms.

The expressions on their faces were priceless. Disbelief, anger, a melancholic longing, all mixed together in their dilated pupils.

"Fifty-" the biggest peacekeeper checks her watch, "three minutes together." The three leave the room, leaving me alone with the two people in the world who never believed in me.

I raise my perfectly sculpted eyebrows at my mother and father. Mom has been crying, judging from her red eyes.

"Sweetie-" father starts. I shush him, and then sashay around the room with a condescending look on my face.

"I volunteered for the games father," I sing, glancing at his facial reflection on the stone walls. His face is as red as the blood in my veins.

Before they can bother me anymore, I keep singing my little made up song.

"And now it is tiiiimeee for yooou to accept my dreams aaand," I hold out on the last little note.

"Leave this place," I finish, in a serious speaking voice.

I rock back and forth on my tippy-toes, with my backside facing them. Mother tugs on father's sleeve, trying to get him to leave. He doesn't.

I whirl around and look their pathetic little faces in the eye, "You don't want me to call the peacekeepers on you, now don't you..."

That gets them to leave. I crack my neck and peek out of the door. I can see my reflection in the walls, and I admit that even after all of the ruckus I went through, my outfit and hair held together nicely.

"Miss Mindini, please return to your designated goodbye space," the large female peacekeeper scolds.

I sigh, "Excuse me Ma'am, but I'm afraid that nobody has come to say goodbye... Am I allowed to roam freely-"

I'm cut off by a little figure running towards me at top speed. Carver.

"Hey! Vera! I thought I missed you!" Carver shouts. The peacekeepers look outraged. He obviously came in informally, causing some kind of security breach.

"Is he one of your friends," a scrawny female peacekeeper inquires. I nod, because it's likely that if I appear to not know him, she will shoot him.

"Vera! Vera! Congratulations! YOU ARE GOING TO THE 34TH HUNGER GAMES AS A TRIBUTE! DO YOU REALIZE HOW FANTASTIC THIS IS?!" The peacekeepers give him a stern look.

"Sorry," Carver whispers. I mentally roll my eyes. The stupidity of this situation is hilarious. I suppose that in the back corner of my mind, I expected him to come say goodbye. I'm almost sure he has a strange infatuation with me.

Scrawny peackeeper lowers her gun, "Listen girlie, you have twenty minutes with your friend over here, and then you need to depart for the trains... Also, get into your designated goodbye space and quiet down."

Carter is in my "designated goodbye space", before I can get back in. Damn, that kid is fast.

We spend the next twenty minutes discussing strategies and other things of the sort. It's funny, everything he comes up with is absolute crap. I already know how I'm going to play these games.

The third peacekeeper, a short man, opens the door, and beckons for Carver to leave. I bid him a small wave goodbye. Everything is blurry from sheer excitement as I'm led to the train with Ronin. My destiny is now a blank canvas, ready to be painted anew in sweet crimson red blood.


	3. District Three Reapings

**A|N: Hey friends check it out we FINALLY updated. I'm gonna save the sappy stuff for the end, so here's a quick introduction for the deceptive Taurus Click, and the sarcastically sweet Saffron Georgia!**

Compulsive

By: BeccaBlaze

**Taurus Click, Age 15, District Three**

* * *

_There are some people,_

_so addicted to exaggeration_,

_that they can't tell the truth without lying._

-_Josh Billings _

* * *

"You'll be careful mama?"

"Of course."

"Promise to be home by tomorrow?"

"... I don't-"

"It's okay. I'll do fine."

"Keep daddy safe for me, okay?"

"Yes mama."

"You be careful too Taurus... Okay?"

I nodded and looked down unhappily at my worn out shoes. I had been so happy to have him home, even if it was just for a while. Nothing else mattered when she was there, what else could? Nothing was more important to a little boy than getting see his mother, at least not to me.

Sitting on the little house's steps, I bid one final wave goodbye to my mother. At the time, it felt like I was making a big deal out of nothing at all. After all, she would only be gone for two months, and then she would come home and get to stay for a whole week. But for some reason, it was always so hard to say one simple word, one word that most everyone says on a daily basis...

Goodbye.

I had never told her _goodbye_, never had I truly spoken words of actual parting, or even whispered them quietly when nobody could hear.

And that is something I regret to the highest extent, because when she had left that night, she never came back. I hadn't had the chance to tell her _goodbye_, nor _I love you_, and not even _I care_ or _you mean something to me_.

To say that that was the greatest regret of my childhood is an understatement. Not saying goodbye, then never getting the chance to say it again...

I guess you could say that's why I don't value other people as close to me as I should. If you trust them, they can curl up inside your heart and rip it to pieces.

Eleven years later, and the memories are still as clear and painful as ever. I still have my dad, he's never left. At least, not for very long, never longer than eleven years.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," I groggily open my gooped up eyes and try to make out any figures in the darkness of my room.

A snap of the fingers, and the dim lamp in the room corner clicks on, revealing the tall figure standing in my door frame. He keeps telling me to wake up, but I try my hardest to ignore his commands.

I pull my checkered covers over my head and bury my face into my lumpy pillow. I attempt to hide from the man in the doorway, but to no avail. He sits backwards on the chair near my bed and yanks my covers off the bed, leaving me with nothing to curl up with but my springy trash mattress.

"I don't wanna get up," I finally manage to croak. The lamp starts to warm up, leaving my room brighter and brighter. The only thing I seem capable of doing this morning is bury my face deeper and deeper into my pillow.

"Well that might be a-okay on normal days, but today is special son! It's the reaping day." His voice drips with a sarcastic tone, and his words automatically make my stomach churn.

I sit up and run my fingers through my stubbly black hair, "Yes dad. Gotta get ready, right?"

His fake-cheery smile falls.

"Right. You need to get ready. I'll just leave you to that, and I'll start on breakfast."

"Not hungry," I habitually spit back. It was an accidental lie. My insides rush, but I choose not to acknowledge them. Addiction is hard to break, especially when you enjoy the feeling you get when giving in.

Dad gives me a skeptical look, "Taurus, you barely had any dinner... Are you sure you're not at least a little bit hungry...?"

I nod my head in a reassuring way, "Of course. If I was hungry, I would tell you."

Lie.

A grim smile reaches the ends of his face, "That's you, my honest kid..."

I step out of bed and put on my worn slippers, "Right."

Bigger lie.

"Nothing to hide..."

"Yep."

Biggest lie.

With each lie, my stomach gave a satisfying drop. Over the years, it had become a habit.

Some people are addicted to drugs. Some people are addicted to alcohol. I'm addicted to lying. It's such a sensation, the rush you get on the inside, it becomes the greatest thing you can feel.

Dad points to my closet, and then he leaves; A sign for me to get ready. I rub my eyes, and mope over to the closet. I want to wear something comfortable, but it's the _reaping_. If I'm going to get picked for the hunger games, I might as well look nice for it. The fanciest thing I own is a white dress shirt and a pair of corduroy pants. It doesn't take me long to sift through my clothes and find my reaping outfit. I don't own much... I've never felt the need for any new clothes, and I've also never grown out of my old ones. I had a major growth spurt when I was thirteen and I haven't grown since.

I take as long as I can to change, and even when I finish I still don't feel ready. My clothes are wrinkled beyond imagination, because my dad and I are too poor to afford nicer built clothes nor an iron. Also, I can't really do anything about my uneven hair, it's barely even enough to keep my head the slightest bit warm...

Buzzing it all off was a bad decision. I miss my long hair.

Despite my tired body, my mind is still sharp and alert. Just like always. Never let your mind rest, or else things can sneak up on you, and you won't be able to do anything about them.

"Taurus, get in the kitchen! Soups on!"

I drag myself out of my room, and grab a pair of mismatched socks from the floor. I've never been one to keep clean, and sometimes messy habits come in handy. Like now, when I otherwise wouldn't be bothered to find a nice pair of socks.

The kitchen is right next to my father's room. Luckily for us, our house has two bedrooms instead of the standard one. Of course, that comes with a price... Our house doesn't have plumbing, so personal hygiene isn't really something we can do much about. That's the reason why I shaved my head, to avoid getting the lice from the outbreak in our village.

I mope all the way down the hallway, and the sit at the kitchen table. My dad hands over a bowl of lumpy grey oatmeal, and I happily gobble it all down, only focusing on the substance, not the flavor. I near pleaded for my dad to let me go in for tesserae so that we could have some decent food, but he refused to allow me to go in for any. So my name is in the reaping bowl four times this year.

Four measly little times.

Dad sits on the mismatched chair across from me, and pokes at his breakfast. In the time I finished mine, he's only started on his first bite.

"Eat it."

He looks down into my eyes and shakes his head. PTSD is one hell of a bitch. Over the years, it's gotten better, but he still barely eats.

"Dad..." I put a warning tone into my voice.

"After the reaping... I'm not hungry now. Maybe afterwards we can have a big lunch..."

"Dad. Eat it. And then we can have a big lunch."

He continues to stall eating his breakfast for the next twenty minutes. I try and ease him towards eating anything at all, until it's finally time to leave. He sighs and opens up the front door, and I follow.

The truth is, I'm scared of the reapings. Not terrified, no, I'm not terrified of anything. But I am scared of having to leave my dad alone in the world.

Town square, where they hold the reapings, is far off from my village, so my dad saves up each year for enough to pay the fare of the District Three trolley. The trolley is a special part of district three, it's a nice alternative to walking everywhere. It's basically like a much grubbier version of the fancier trains used for the ride to and from the capitol.

The station is not far away, only a half mile or so on foot. But when dad and I get there, we stick close to each other. Although District Three is a wealthy district, there are still parts of it that are nearly as poor as the lower districts. I live in one of those parts, informally known as the Slums of Sommerloch. The crime rate here is the highest, and the criminals here are ignored by the peacekeepers, mainly because they're simply too good to catch.

Luckily, with our unkempt clothes and smarts, dad and I make it in and out of the station in no time. The train ride is short, because in the technology district we have some of the fastest trains around, even for the poor.

The City Hall square is absolutely magnificent, and I feel slightly out of place in my ratty clothes, next to my lice ridden father. We exchange looks, he gives me a bittersweet smile and I send back my usual masked look.

We pass down colorful booths closed up for the reaping, and bump others going to the same place we are. Usually, the gap between the rich and poor is such that a bump with the lower class would cause for a disgusted facial expression, but today everyone is empathetic and accepting. Today, everyone, rich and poor, are just citizens of Panem praying and hoping that they or their children or their friends won't be reaped. Today, everyone is equal, no matter how many times their name has been written in that reaping bowl.

I want to reach out and grab my dad's hand... But I don't. We part at the checkpoint. He is roped off into the spectators section, and I am pushed into the lines of teens waiting to be identified and checked of. When I watch his parting face, I immediately regret not saying anything the whole ride. He's probably just as insecure as I am.

I'm guided towards the middle of a sea of different teens. Some with blonde hair, some with brown, some poor and some rich. Technically I hate them all, within good reason. They've always made fun of me, so why would I have any reason to like them?

District Three's past victors, Sydney Doubleu and Tobias Morakri, sit in a little row of chairs next to our escort, Romi Wilcox. Romi isn't exactly the typical Capitol citizen, she's a lot less artificial and annoying. It shows in her simplistic outfits and warm manner.

The District Mayor, and also Tobias's elderly father, grips the single microphone on the stage and begins to read off of a series of notecards.

Blah blah blah dark days blah blah Capitol supremacy blah blah tributes blah blah districts blah blah blah. It's the same crap he feeds us year after year, and quite frankly I get sick of it. So, instead of listening to him drone on and on about some bullshit the Capitol wrote, I just play with the buttons on my shirt cuff. They hang on the ends of their thread, just like me. One little flick and it could be sent off everything it's ever known, and into the abyss below.

_Okay, you just started comparing your life to your shirt button. Pull yourself together,_ I silently reprimand myself.

Not paying any attention to the reapings, I keep fiddling with my button.

It pops off just as my name is called. There would only be one reason why _my name_ would be shouted out at such a time. I am going into the 34th annual Hunger Games. There is no escape.

My ears perk up and all the blood in my body starts rushing faster. My breaths are strained, but I try to hide my fear as I shuffle my way up to the stage. It's one mistake I've seen every year, tributes already being labeled as weak because they break down during the reaping.

All of the eyes in the square are on me... My life is already over, I can tell. The seemingly endless walk up is a death march to me. My skills are ones that wouldn't be of much help in the arena, whatever arena it may be. I'm not strong or fast or good with any type of weapon.

Romi gives me a fake smile once I make it up on the stage, "So you're our lucky little boy from District Three! And how old are you?"

"Fifteen," I manage to get it out in one word, and I'm surprised that I didn't say that I was fourteen or sixteen. Things like that tend to happen in situations like this.

I hope and hope that I don't set off the impression of a weak little boy. Being labeled as weak is the last thing you want to happen to you during the games. Unless... _No_, I scold myself, _it's too early to be worrying about game strategies..._

Romi finishes smiling at me with her pearly whites and turns back to the reaping bowl.

"Alrighty, now it's time to pick out our female to go into the games this year..." Romi hums quietly to herself as she twirls her spindly fingers in the pile of little pieces of paper. A name is picked, and unfolded. My stomach is a pit of anger mixed in with sadness. Whoever it is, they will have to go through the absolute hell that I'm going through.

"Saffron Georgia."

My ears perk up at the name. She's a girl from a nearby village, one much nicer than mine of course. I've heard her mentioned before... But other than that the girl is a mystery.

A chubby, slightly pretty girl with bouncy red locks of hair walks stiffly up onto the stage. She can't be more than twelve... At least at that height she can't be at that height! Her eyes are a nice little hazel tone, highlighted by her pale skin. Her footsteps are shaky, but she still remains formed. It's strange to have someone reaped so young, yet not make a scene about it.

Once the girl is herded onto the stage by some peacekeepers, I get a better look at my competition. She's a lot cuter up close.

"Oh so you're Miss Georgia, I presume! And how old are you?"

"T-thirteen"

So she's not twelve. It sure seemed that way, judging from how short she was. I'm glad I'm not the only one going into the games who doesn't look their age. I've been mistaken for a sixteen year old _far_ too many times.

"Go on, shake Taurus's hand won't you..." Romi discreetly pushes Saffron towards me. I stick out my hand and we shake, her hand more firm than mine. I swallow a lump in my throat.

As I get a brief look into her eyes, I'm suddenly forced to accept that at least one of us is going to die. And I don't want it to be me. But for some reason, even though I never get attached to other people and I know I'm the most important person in my life, I don't want her to die either.

I try and tune everything out. It works, and before I know it I'm pushed into the justice building and into a room. It's for my goodbyes, I assume.

Dad bursts into the room, and wraps his arms around me. I hear the peacekeepers tell me I have only an hour, but I want to ignore them. I want to stay hugging him until forever.

You never realize what you have until you lose it. My father might lose me. He's lost so much. I don't want him to have to live without me. I don't want to have to stop living. I don't want to do this.

"Please don't leave me," dad whispers. Suddenly, nothing matters except for the fact that he probably won't be able to go on without me. My rumpled clothes nor my first impression on the other tributes - none of it matters. Dad is going to go through what he had to go through when mom disappeared.

I break out of the hug and look dad in his blue eyes, "I will win."

Stomach drop. Even my body knows I don't stand a chance.

Dad gives me a bittersweet smile. For the next hour, nobody comes and dad doesn't leave. We don't talk about the games, only small talk about work and school. It's strange. He's fighting back tears. I'm fighting back tears.

The peacekeepers come to drag him away. I shout, but the door is closed.

I am left with nothing.

* * *

Brains of Titanium

By: cookiethecat

**Saffron Georgia, Age 13, District 3**

* * *

_＂__The keys to patience are acceptance and faith. _

_Accept things as they are, _

_and look realistically at the world around you. _

_Have faith in yourself_,

_and in the direction you have chosen."_

_-Ralph Marston_

* * *

"Flip. Flip. Flip," the sound of flipping pages continues to follow me, even in my dreams. Sign one I've been studying way _too_ much. You see, I'm your typical District Three girl, unnoticeable, average, training a lot in engineering. My mum homeschools me, though so I'm, let's say, ten years ahead of public-schooled kids. I'd been looking through my human anatomy textbook at one in the morning, started on the nervous/digestive system, and fallen asleep halfway through.

Downstairs, I can hear mum making breakfast and papa heading off to work. It's probably around 8 in the morning, and I already see my reaping outfit- a pink dress (that totally sets off my red- RED- hair), along with a green sash for my stupid curls and a simple woven necklace from District Eight. He works at District Three's top technology center, so he's always teaching me about these kind of things because, and as he says, "God forbid she be chosen into the Hunger Games". So I've been doing simple tasks like fixing the oven and microwave since I was three.

Ever since then, papa has been calling me his "brains of titanium." Of course, now I know that titanium, unlike common (or uncommon too, I suppose) belief, while it is very strong, is not by far the strongest element; it merely has one of the highest strength to weight ratios on the Periodic Table as a lightweight metal. Anywho, with our little wordplay, along with few (very few) words of encouragement, I can tell he and mum have utter faith in me.

* * *

Ignoring the Reapings dress on my bedside, I shuffle to the closet and slip into a plain red T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Mum, hearing my footsteps, yells at me to 'get my lazy butt off the bed and down the stairs.' You see, my mom isn't exactly the emotional type.

After a quick brush through my teeth and a swipe of water on my face, I'm ready for the day. One look at me in the mirror makes me feel, well, self conscious. I've never really been skinny; I mean, at age 13, I must weigh at least 120 pounds. I don't even know why; I don't eat much more than anyone else, and as District Three is not a rich district, I've never understood why I seem to have at least 30 pounds off everyone else. Whatever. I'm fat. World, deal with it. My hair doesn't really help, either. BRIGHT red hair frames my face, bouncy and with so much buoyancy I'm surprised it doesn't fly off when I walk. And it's _almost_ as big as my the other girls in the District laugh at me, calling me "fatso", "hair monster", "overweight", and "ugly".I understand I've never been beautiful, but being me isn't something I can change. Anyways, who needs friends? I've got Fluffers, my cat, who'll always listen to me and will never, ever, call me names.

As I head down the stair, Fluffers purrs and headbutts my leg with his face. I smile and reach down to ruffle his head, but quickly stand up and stride over to my mum. When kept waiting, she can turn vicious. You have NO idea. Once, when I was five and didn't come over for dinner when she called, she was so frustrated she accidentally (or was it on purpose?) melted half of a stirring spoon into our soup andburned 3 plates and part of the counter. With a tiny smile playing on my lips, I look at mum, and with a lick of my lips, begin to eat the toast and eggs set before me.

* * *

Ughh. I'm so full. I don't even think I can walk anymore. Mum always feeds me more on the Reaping days. As if that's gonna increase my chances of not getting picked. Honestly, it only adds another few hundred pounds to my weight. But I wouldn't know for sure. We used to have a scale at our house, but I hid it and vowed never, ever, to weigh myself. The sunlight lasered on my back reminds me that I have to snap out of it and that there's only a little bit of time before the Reapings start.

Okay. My mind's gears mentally start turning as soon as I open my textbook. Nooses, traps, and how they work. Perfect. _Traps date back to the fourth century BC in China, used as a primitive method of catching animals. The Zhuangzi reads, "The sleek-furred fox and the elegantly spotted leopard...can't seem to escape the disaster of nets and traps."However, modern steel traps were developed in the 16th century in England, thus improving the efficiency and ability to help humans retain their prey. A body gripping trap, also known as conibear, kill animals the most quickly and efficiently, they work by engorging..._

Halfway through the book and totally engaged, I forget the clock. When I look up, it's already 11. Already? Hurrying, I slip on the pink dress at my bedside and absentmindedly pick at a loose thread near the bottom. I should really get that fixed. _Interfacing, known as "dao zhendao" to the ancient Chinese, works by one stitch, halfway pulled back to the previous, and..._

Wow. I guess I kind of have a knack for remembering things I read. How have I never noticed that before? I _do_ spend too much time with my nose in my go, right hemisphere of my cerebrum! Hmmm... this could be a really big advantage... _if_ I got picked for the Hunger Games, that is.

* * *

Yeah. Anyways...done with my nerdy thoughts, I head downstairs and greet my mum with a quick kiss on the cheek. Then, out the door I go. Not 5 steps out the door, I notice a crinkling sound on my waist. Huh. There's a piece of paper. When'd that get there? Upon closer inspection, it's a note from papa and mum:

_Hey honey,_

_You go! I have full faith in you. Just do your best not to get picked._

_~Mum_

_What your mother said. I know you can do it, my brains of titanium!_

_~Papa_

Phew.

At least I've got them. I know that even if I get picked, I have a good chance in this thing. Just pray that I don't.

As I arrive to the Town Square, the sun is already at its highest peak in the sky, and burning all the sweat off the back of my neck. So, it's like I'm sweating, but the sweat is evaporating, so I'm not sweating. It's weird.

Ow.

It's hard to get used to the prick of the needle in the Peacekeeper's hand. The red rose blossoms on my hand, and the Peacekeeper squashes it firmly on the paper. _Way to go_. He nods curtly at me, and I hurry to the section roped off for the 13 year olds, and wait for our escort, Romi Wilcox. I actually kind of like her, she's not so artificial and...colorful like the other ones; she doesn't look like one of those creepy dolls from horror movies that rip out your brains when you're asleep. Though I seriously doubt Romi could find her way to my house out of all of them and could properly tear out my brain without me waking up. Ouch.

I tend to let my thoughts wander. That's not good. With one quick blink, I refocus on the Mayor's speech, something about "capitol supremacy". Whatever. No one listens to that stuff. I mean, I've only attended the Reapings _once_ and I'm already sick of it. Poor eighteen year olds.

Before I can continue on that train of thought, and get lost in my own thoughts again, I focus on something else. A little bow on my pink dress. It looks a little wrinkled. Pink, wrinkled, weird shape. Kinda like a monkey's butt...

_NOOO, Saffron. Get your head out of the clouds._

So instead, I think about the traps and nooses I learned about in the book this morning.

-2 main types of traps, nooses and nets. On the ground, flat black is the best hue...

My line of thought is quickly interrupted. _Again_. This time, it's our escort.

"Well, everybody, welcome to the 34th annual Hunger Games! Well, let's start with the male tribute!"She giggles slightly, but why she does I haven't the slightest clue. "Taurus Click,"She announces, almost proud. Oh. That name sounds familiar. Oh, I've seen him before. He lives in the village next to mine, so I don't know much about him. Poor guy. I heard his mama left for a trip for the Capitol, and never came back. I could never imagine life without mama...

He looks a little frazzled and surprised coming up to the stage. "So you're our lucky little boy from District Three! And how old are you?" Romi asks with unnecessary enthusiasm. "Fifteen,"he mutters almost glumly.

"Alrighty, now it's time to pick out our female to go into the games this year..." Romi smiles, humming under her breath. Her hand dives under the slips of paper, in and out. Almost like a fish...

"Saffron Georgia." It's me. Me. Ha. I almost want to laugh at the irony. I, a 13 year old little girl, am going to be put into an arena designed like who-knows-what with 23 others in a fierce and bloody battle to the death.

Great.

My mouth curls into a smile, and I walk slowly but surely onto the stage, and don't stop until I'm face to face with Taurus. My hair bounces the whole way. He gives me a scrutinizing look, which I assume is the decision of how he's going to kill me, or if I could be of any use to him. Which, judging by his expression, is _no_.

"Oh so you're Miss Georgia, I presume! And how old are you?"Romi asks in a sweet voice.

"T-thirteen," I mumble. Gah. Curse my tongue. Sure, stumble here. Now. Thanks a lot. Now I'll pass off as weak or scared, I guess.

"Go on, shake Taurus's hand won't you..." Romi "subtlely" nudges me to Taurus, and I shake his hand, not flinching in the least. I look into his hazel brown eyes, and I see something I wouldn't expect. Doubt, with a tang of remorse and hopelessness. Maybe he isn't so bad after all.

Gone is my moment of epiphany, and Romi and two... bulky... Peacekeepers push me into the Justice Building. I know what happens now, I think. And sure enough, my mama and papa race through the door. The guard at the door reminds us gruffly that we only have one hour.

To my disbelief, mama is crying, her eyes red and puffy.

"Don't cry, mama. I'm ready for this," I try at an attempt to appease her to no avail.

"I don't think I'm ready for this! I didn't think you would really be picked! No! Barre, DO SOMETHING!"My mom turns to papa, face red with anger?

Papa looks stricken, but does his best to calm her down, murmuring and things made mama cry, it must be pretty bad. A lump threatens to form in my throat, but I haphazardly push it down, with a little too much force.

Bllp. I let out a small burp. Papa and mama turn to me, surprised. And then we all fall down with fits of giggles. Mama's better now, face red with laughter instead of tears. I like that. Between bursts of laughter and choking wheezes, my papa gives me his last words of encouragement.

"Saffron, I *hic* know you can win this. *hic* You're strong*hic* and smart, and I*hic* have no doubt in *hic* you, my brains of titanium!*hic* Come back to us *hic*, you can do it!*hic*"

The Peacekeeper comes in, and his face quickly masks into an expression of utter bewilderment, three people rolling on the floor laughing after being entered in a fight to the death, when I'm sure everyone else is crying and hugging and not letting go. "Your token," Mama murmurs to me as she leaves and drops a small trinket in my hand.

"I LOVE YOU!" I scream to both of them as the Peacekeeper slams the door with unnecessary force.

Only then do I look down at the little object in my hand. A silver hairpin. Whoopdeedoo. In a battle to the death with 23 other hormonal teenagers, a hairpin is _really_ gonna give me the upper hand! Trying to shake off my sarcastic mood, I gently pry it open a little. On one side, my mom has written, in her curlicue script, _Come back to us, Saffron. I know you can!_ And on the other side, my papa has written three words:

Brains of Titanium.

* * *

**A|N: Hi everybody! I'm cookiethecat. First of all, I owe you guys an apology, especially my co-operators (no pun intended); I'm the reason this story was on hiatus, so, yeah.. sorry! Secondly, I need to thank all of you guys for reviewing; it means **_**a lot**_ **to us. Please keep it up ; I think I speak for all of us when I say we'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas. But of course, I'm just repeating this. I'm sure you guys've heard it plenty times. So yeah, enough with the chitchat:**

**Thank you everybody, and remember to review!**

**Other A|N: Wassup It's me again. You know, BeccaBlaze. I also owe you people an apology, as there were plenty of annoying layout errors in this chapter that I tried and failed to fix. Also, review! I'd like to give a special special shoutout to all of our reviewers...  
It means a lot!**


	4. District Four Reapings

**A|N: Okay we will try to slow down on the Author notes here, but this is just an introduction to the District Four reapings, featuring the unique (for lack of a better word) Aucara Yernon, and the friendly Kaden Clary! Ugh, shitty introduction, I know...**

* * *

**A|N: Hiya peoples! This is PeanutbutterWolf here. There isn't really much to say, but this is my first chappie, so hopefully you all like it :D Enjoy! (I feel like a waitress or something...)**

* * *

White

By: PeanutbutterWolf

**Aucara Yenorn, Age 18, District Four**

* * *

_"When you have tasted flight,_

_You will walk the earth with your eyes turned upward,_

_For there you have been, and there you will always long to return." _

_- Leonardo Da Vinci_

* * *

Everything is white. Clean. Clear. Beautiful.

There is no land. There is no sky. There is only that white blanket, covering the nothing that is everything.

The vague shapes of people walk around me, each made of the same pearly substance that the rest of the world is. Dogs silently pad behind their owners, mules drag along in front of fish covered carts. People mouth words, silently shouting out prices. There is an air of calm that surrounds everything, part of the white mist. The mist makes an equal world, where everybody matches. Everybody, including me.

Everything in this world makes sense to me. It's what I want. What I need. And yet... something is off. Nothing here seems right. A small sound breaks through the silence, coming from faraway. It does not belong.

Snapping my head up from this foggy state, I break into a run, white hair streaming behind me.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, my feet pound the ground that should not be there. Whack, whack, whack, whack, my hands hit the metal that should not ring. Pale colors flash before my eyes, vibrating as beings materialize in front of me. None of this should be happening. Everything needs to match. Everything needs to be white!

Frantically running, my feet slap the ground, spraying wet mud on my legs. Leaping over carts, bounding over logs, into the woods.

"Aucara!" The voice shouts. A hand reaches for my arm. It's still white. Stopping, I look over my shoulder. The hand begins getting darker. Whirling around, away from the unwelcome sight, I sprint forward, desperate for something... but what is it I am desperate for?

The question tugs at my mind, bringing me back to the present. "Aucara!" The voice repeats. Two strong hands bind my arms together, even as I fight it off. "Aucara! Get a hold of yourse-" The speaker never finishes his sentence, as I free my arms and hit wildly, continuing my sprint towards the small glimmer of white. But the question continues to yank at me, pulling and tugging. What am I looking for?

I can't stop, but I feel that I must. My legs pull me forward, moving by their own will, as I see colors form around me. People shift shapes, and objects vanish and reappear. And then...

o0o

My eyes snap open, and everything around me rearranges itself to it's original state. After looking around, I realized that I had run out into the center of the field, far from where I had started.

My whiteouts, as I liked to call them, were happening more and more often. I feared that one day I would fall into one, and never come out.

Brushing away the anxiety I felt building up inside of me, I focused back to the task at hand. Training.

This would be the last time I trained at home. Today, I would volunteer at the reapings. I would save somebody misery, sorrow, and possible death. Today was that day that I've spent my entire life's work on. Of course, many would be volunteering as well- I would need to be quick in order to volunteer first. I'm not the only one who has spent my life training. But I am the only one that I know of that has trained on their own.

Taking a single breath, I look back towards my house, where normally train. 5... 4... 3... 2... I count mentally in my head back to one, before starting the stopwatch. I race towards the house, bare feet brushing the dew-covered grass.

1 minute13 seconds. Pretty good. Sliding the timer back into my pocket, I look around me. I take note of the dark sky, with only a sliver of light shining in the distance. I'm slightly surprised for a moment, before laughing at myself. Of course it's dark. After all, it's only 3:00 in the morning.

Sighing, I turn away from the house. This will be one of the last days that I get a chance to train alone. I must value it.

Setting the timer on for four hours, I begin my morning routine.

Run for 50 five laps around the field, at the veryleast. And after that I'llgo on to knife throwing. My aim was slightly off, but that was to be expected. I'm much better at using a double sided sword, although many say it is old fashioned.

This brutal training of which I have placed upon myself to complete every day continues until the sun is shining, and I am covered with sweat.

When I finish, my entire body aches. Even my _teeth_ are sore. I'm used to this kind of pain, and in a way, it's almost relaxing. Comforting. It gives me a purpose, something that I've needed ever since since Mama died. The very thought makes me want to cry. But I hold back. I always hold back. Because crying is a form of weakness, and I most certainly am not weak.

Mama died on my eighth birthday, 10 years ago. There was a fight, started by a man whose son had died in the Hunger Games. Little Kirman Macbeth didn't have a chance of winning. Everybody else was older, stronger, and more experienced. But surprisingly, he made it prettyfar into the games, before the male from district 1 killed him. And that was when Mr. Macbeth began the revolt.

He went insane, literally ripping down every single trading booth he saw. Many joined in, wanting to revolt against the capitol.

Our little house was on the edge of the district, safe from outsiders. That's where Papa and I stayed. Papa was in an extremely fragile state. Mama told me his brain was slightly damaged, and he could only get better if he didn't stress himself. I was supposed to keep track of him. But then Mama left for town, to try to get Laurel Kramet's daughter out of danger.

Everything went downhill from there. Papa began wailing like a little baby, and I couldn't calm him. For hours I sat by his side, telling him stories that he liked. Finally, he went to sleep.

But Mama never came back. I waited hours- days, it seemed- before finally I heard a knock on the door. It was Mrs. Kramet, and her daughter. And with her, a cart. A cart with one blanket covered object.

Tears didn't come to my eyes, as I had expected. I was sobbing in my mind, tears streaming down in rivers. I was screaming, shouting for help. But nobody came, and my face failed to betray any of these emotions.

"Mama..." Mrs. Kramet stepped forwards, as if to give me a hug. I couldn't accept. Nobody could hug me but Mama. Mrs. Kramet was not Mama. Taking a step back, I began stuttering.

"I... I..." That was all I could say. Mrs. Kramet nodded, as if she understood. She couldn't understand, though. Nobody could understand.

"I feel your pain, Aucara." She whispered.

Lip trembling, I shook my head. That little tremble spread like wildfire, and consumed me until my whole body was shaking violently.

"No... No... I... she..." And with that, I ran. Feet pounding gravel, I shoved past Mrs. Kramet. I had never run that fast before.

I ran past Mr. Macbeth, surrounded by peacekeepers. I ran past the burned stores. Past the lone woman playing her flute by the harbor. And there began my first whiteout.

It was 10 years ago, a long time, but I can still remember every single little detail of that day, from the minute that Mrs. Kramet knocked on my door.

Now I'm 18, and the memory is still strong as ever. The scent of sulfur in the air, the crash of buildings collapsing, the bodies of Peacekeepers strewn about, the touch of ash beneath my bare feet.

Everything.

As I ran that day, struggling to find closure, everything began fading. The colors paled to white, leaving only the outlines of people and destruction around me. I wasn't afraid, then or now. After all, it was white, and I was white, and now everything matched.

But again, something was wrong. A sweet voice called behind me, and I had no choice but to look back.

"Mama-" I choked out. But nobody was there.

That was when I realized it- there would never be anybody there. Mama was gone, and that was that.

Eventually the peacekeepers would catch me in the harbor, and bring me back home. I would find that Mrs. Kramet was gone, leaving only the lump of fabric which was Mama. I would enter the house and see a basket of bread and fish, with a note from Mrs. Kramet. And Papa would be gone.

But that's the past, I think to myself. There would be no way that I could bring Mama or Papa back.

"Louise..." I hear. It's all that Papa ever says now. The voice comes from our old house, where Mrs. Kramet now lives and takes care of him. I live several miles away. Away from the memories of Mama. Papa and Mrs. Kramet must be on their 7:00 walk, for me to be able to hear him call out.

Sometimes I wish that Papa would call out for me, but he doesn't remember me. He doesn't remember anything. He even forgot how to talk. How to eat. Forgot what everything was. But he remembered Mama's name- Louise. So that was all he ever said.

"Louise, Louise, Louise, Louise." I tried to take care of him in the beginning, but eventually I just gave up. I can't trust anybody, anyways. One day, Papa might get his memory back, and that day he'll hate me for not saving Mama.

Swallowing the sigh that threatens to escape my throat, I walk back to my house.

Today I will volunteer. Or maybe I will be reaped. I've entered my name for tesserae at least 163 times this round. It's a ridiculously large number, but getting into the hunger games is extremely important to me.

My district is one of the richest, and I am not exactly starving. But I live on my own, and since Papa can not provide for me, and I will not accept anything from Mrs. Kramet, I survive off of selling the tesserae and occasionally catching my own fish. I will never drop down to the level that I must beg.

As I enter the little 3 roomed house I live in, the scent of bread instantly hits me. Rushing to the oven I pull out the loaf. It's slightly burnt, as ismost of the food I make, but overall it is fine.

After quickly scarfing down my breakfast, I scrub myself from head to toe, ignoring the harsh, icy cold water.

Slipping into the dress makes me feel cleaner, fresher, more _alive_. I'm not sure what it is- the excitement before volunteering, or knowing that this dress used to belong to Mama.

Grey dress shoes click on shining floorboards as I step over to the mirror to inspect myself.

If there is one thing that sets me apart from everybody else, it would be the fact that I am albino. I don't know how it happened- Mama had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes while Papa has black hair and grey eyes. They both had tan skin.

There are only 2 things that I have inherited from both of them. One would be my eyes. One of them is grey, and the other is blue. I get the occasional odd look, but it doesn't really matter- it's nice to have something to tie me to them. The other thing would be a single, worn, frayed, and burnt, blue ribbon. My father gave it to my mother. It was the only thing that was salvaged from her when she died.

I'm not exactly pretty, and not exactly ugly. My nose is too long, too skinny, my chin too pointy, my lips too thin. But no matter- I beauty won't help me in the hunger games.

Shaking off these thoughts, I wander around the house, making sure everything is in place. If I get back- no, _when_ I get back- I want everything to be neat.

o0o

At last, everybody has gathered in the town square. The giant stage is occupied by the face of Gabrielle Niale, the escort for this year's hunger games.

My heart beats wildly as I try to calm myself. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Fixing my face to it's normal expressionless state. Keeping a straight face is probably the best thing that I can do. It's easier than showing how nervous I am.

If I volunteer it may very well be the last time that I ever see my hometown again. No, I think to myself. It's too late to back down now. That would mean wasting all of my life's work. And I can not do that, no matter what.

"Hello, everybody!" Gabrielle exclaims, in a ridiculously high and squeaky, voice. She fiddles with her poofy pink dress, that clashes terribly with her navy blue skin. Along with then abnormally large rose in her red and green hair, a profession as a clown would certainly fit her.

"It is my joy to welcome you to the 34th annual Hunger Games reapings!" She trills. As I stand in front, I feel horribly under-dressed. The other 18 year olds around me are wearing similar outfits to Gabrielle, albeit more than slightly toned down. Still, I am the only one not wearing the frills, laces, and colorful dresses that are of the season.

As Gabrielle squeaks on and the Capitol's anthem is played, fear overtakes me. Do I really want to do this? No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

I don't have a choice any more. I've centered my entire life around this moment. It's too late to turn back now. And besides- if I'm not training, what will I do?

So I know that I don't have a choice. I will volunteer first. I will stand on that stage, next to Gabrielle Niale. And I will win these games. I _will._

"And now, for the part I know you all have been waiting for,"

My head, as many others around me, snap up. The reapings.

"Now... ladies first. Of course. Are there any volun-" Before she can finish her sentence, I step up. Heart pounding in chest, I swallow before speaking.

"I volunteer as tribute for the hunger games.".

The entire crowd grows deathly silent. Nobody has interrupted the escort before.

Turning a full 360 degrees I nod at the rest of the crowd. No reaction. Facing Gabrielle again, I repeat myself, in a louder, more confident voice. "I, Aucara Yenorn, volunteer for the 34th annual Hunger Games." My mind does not relay the same confidence.

Flustered, Gabrielle gives a false smile. "Of- of course," Smile plastered in place, she gestures towards me.

"Come up."

Slowly, I walk up the short distance between me and the stage, trying to ignore the peacekeepers that stalk my every move. My heels ringing on the smooth marble is the only thing that is heard.

A perfectly manicured hand reaches up to lay itself on my shoulder. I resist the urge to shudder.

"And we have our 34th female Hunger Games tribute!" She exclaims.

"Now, how old are you?"

"18."

As I look around, I see several glares. As it would seem, the females around here are not particularly fond of me. I can't help but smirk.

Distracted by my thoughts, I don't notice that the male tribute has been chosen. Kaden Clary.

I don't particularly like or hate him, but I don't know him much either. I intend on keeping it that way. He seems easy to kill, despite his muscular figure.

Kaden grins at me from behind Gabrielle's back. Oh, right. He's social.

Again, I let my thoughts drift. He will no doubt join the careers. He fits the type. I won't, of course. Or maybe I will. And then I could betray their alliance. But in order to do that I would need to get to know them...

I shake my head, confused. What should I do?

As my mind whirls, everything begins to pale. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

But as much as I try, it won't stop. People and shapes start fading away until my surroundings are entirely white. Blank ash swirls around me, and voices dim to nothing.

Unable to stop myself, I let step forwards. The stage is nonexistent now, reduced to a murky fog.

I continue my trance-step, my lips opening and closing to the rhythm of my feet. I feel the need to say something, but what?

But before I can get too far, something stops me.

A single voice peeps through- "Hey!"

Turning my head back to face it, another shape forms. And then another, and another.

"Hey! Hey, you!"

It's Kaden, stepping towards me. But his step seems too eager, his face too cheerful. It felt out of place, his entire form. But something about him made _me_ feel out of place. And suddenly, much faster than usual, everything reverted back to where it usually is.

"Are you okay?" His voice brings me back to the present.

A pair of strong arms grip my shoulders and stop me from falling off the stage. Whirling around, I shove him off, unused to his all-too familiar touch.

Hands up, easy grin still in place, he stumbles backwards.

Before either of us can say anything, Gabrielle stands between us.

"We can deal with the introductions later. For now..." She gestures towards our hands.

My face slightly flushed, I stick out my hand. Still smiling (that smile is starting to scare me) he grabs it. His hand is warm and calloused. With a wink, and a slight bow, he turns and steps off the stage.

I stare after him for a moment, utterly confused, before walking off on my end of the stage.

Peacekeepers surround me again and take me to the Justice Hall, where I'm supposed to meet with my family.

"I don't have much of a family," I say.

"I understand. But you still have an hour to collect yourself." An unknown voice, entirely emotionless.

Nodding, I step into the bare room. Surprise- There are pictures of past tributes posted on the walls.

Hands behind my back, I circle the room, glancing at all of the district 4 tributes. There were even pictures dating back to the very first hunger games.

I don't see even a single one where the tribute wasn't smiling proudly, with their chin up, and eyes bright. Many of them won, but a good amount lost as well. As I get to the 24th hunger games, I see Kirman Macbeth.

Like the rest of them, Kirman has a proud smile on his face. He looks bigger in the picture, stronger, too. I don't know what they did to him, but this was not the Kirman I knew.

Tears threaten to spill, but like always, they are held back. For just an instant, however, my normal, stony composure is ruined. My back hutches over, my eyes water, and my entire frame trembles. But it's only for a moment, before I take a deep breath and stand up. I will not let them get to me. I will stand strong and _win_ this.

"Are you ready?" The peacekeeper asks, as he opens the door. This one seems to be softer than the rest. Through his white helmet, I can see laugh lines on his face.

I nod, letting him guide me out.

Halfway there, we are joined by Kaden, along with another peacekeeper. Kaden greets me with a grin of excitement and a hello, but other than that, the walk is silent.

When the peacekeepers drop us off at the car in which we will drive to the train, Kaden immediately slacks.

"Phew! I thought they would never leave,"

I stare at him for a moment, wondering what he was talking about.

"The peacekeeper kept on telling me to walk faster and shut up... it made me want to just smack him! Of course, I didn't. But he literally raised his hand and I swear he was about to! He didn't, though. I gave him a high five for that."

Kaden had to be the most cheerful, positive, and friendly person in District 4. Despite it all, I cracked a smile.

"Finally!" Kaden grinned back at me.

"Oh wait. You don't even know me. Actually, _I_ don't know _you_." He shakes his head. "How is that even possible? I know _everybody._ And everybody that was excited about the reapings was at the crab festival last night." After glancing me over, her cocks his head.

"You look tough. You've been training, haven't you?"

I nod.

"So... Why weren't you there? Anybody who wanted to come could have..."

I shrug. "No reason." Why was he asking so many questions? Was he already preparing to kill me?

"I'm Kaden Clary, by the way. Although you already knew that... the reaping and everything." I stare at his hand for a moment, before taking it.

"And you are...?"

I sigh. Well, I do need to talk, don't I?

"Were you not paying attention during the reaping?" I ask, trying hard not to sound too pompous. A wasted effort, no doubt.

He snorts, obviously not thinking so. "Does anybody? I mean, they've played the exact same video every single year. After watching that 8 times... well let's just say that there are better things to be doing. The only interesting part is seeing our escorts new outfit. They get more ridiculous every year!"

I have to agree with him. But before I can say anything, Gabrielle comes over, clown outfit and all.

"Hello, hello, hello!" She exclaims. "It is _so_ exciting to be here, don't you think! Oh, and the train ride will be just _gorgeous._ Just wait until you see. Crystal chandeliers, beautifully carpeted floors. Oh, and the refreshments! Mmm... you haven't tasted real food before Capitol Châteaubriand..."

She keeps up her chatter throughout the ride to the trains. Kaden keeps up a polite talk, but every so often, when she's not looking, he'll make a face. Well, when I look on the bright side, at least the person I'll be housing with for the next week or so will be pleasant. And easy to kill...

* * *

Friends, Games, and Crab Festivals

by BeccaBlaze

**Kaden Clary, Age 18**

* * *

_A circle is round,_

_It has no end,_

_That's how long,_

_I will be your friend_

_-Sue Lynch (Make New Friends)_

* * *

It started with a mistake.

Just the small hands of a little boy, unknowingly picking up a lethal weapon. He swung it around a bit, and then was discovered as a natural, hailed for his talents. The little boy is me, just exploring the beginning of a new "career".

It was the beginning of the end. The end of my old life, but the start of a new age. The age of weaponry and fighting, combat and merciless fun.

I sit at my dining room table, scanning a government-regulated newspaper for anything interesting. Of course, I'm overcome with jitters and nerves... Why not? After all, it is the reaping day. I'm ready, with a crisp new shirt and slacks on, and my hair is slicked back.

"I really hate how everything is closed this time of day," Kalana drones. I send over a half-hearted smile, to show to her that I'm listening. The truth is, I'm not. My cousin's monotonous voice keeps me feeling like I want to fall asleep.

Of course, I'm not really tired, just anxious. I make little checks up at the clock on the wall, but time never seems to pass.

"Hey Kadey, can you pass me the gold crayon?" My little sister, Koda asks. She's sitting across from me, but the crayons are right next to my right elbow. I toss over the stub of a gold crayon, and peek over at what Koda is drawing.

Koda is six years old, so her drawing skills are mediocre at best... But what she's drawing is plenty obvious. It's a portrait of me!

"Hey! I was going to have that be a surprise!" She shouts at me. I give a shaky grin and ruffle her short black hair. She's just another one of the "family clones" or so we call them. Everyone in my family looks basically like copies of each other, but with small differences in our faces. However, everyone has the same thick black hair, copper skin, strong build, and spectacular blue eyes like the murky sea we've lived near ever since our ancestor's time.

"Kadeeeeen," Kalana rolls her eyes and pushes away her breakfast, "It's time to leave for the you-know-what."

For some reason, my nerves calm down a little bit, "Yeah okay. Do you want me to get Kalla and Kirami...?"

"No. I'll get the kids, you just hurry on your way...Good luck..."

I duck out of the doorway and give a playful salute, watching as Kalana's dull face curls into a smile.

The scenery of my town is magnificent, rivaled by no other. Tourism is a big business here, people from all over the district come to visit just to get a glimpse at the magnificent sea. I'm one of the lucky ones, I get to see it every day!

That's one thing on my list of things I'm going to miss when I volunteer and or likely win. Victor's Village is far off from the coast.

I'm aware that I'm early, because none of the other townsfolk are as far ahead as me. I love being punctual, but being early is best.

The wind whips through my hair, and the salty aroma of the sea air surrounds me. I tear up on the inside, and a wave of nostalgia ripples through me. My childhood was here, I've never set foot really anywhere else. Sure, it may not be some people's favorite place, but it's mine.

I take a deep breath once I realize that I've stepped outside of the town boundaries. I never leave except on reaping days, and even on those days I know I'm coming back. This time I'm not, and it makes me sad.

The others walking near me give me smiles, waves, and little wishes of good luck. They're all my friends, every single one of them. That's another thing on my list of things I'm going to miss when I leave - All the beautiful relationships I've created and maintained are the most important thing to me.

Town square is far off, but I'm a fast walker. I find myself there in no time, and I'm in and out of all the security checks in a flash. All the eighteen year olds are roped off in the back. I exchange looks with the ones surrounding me. They return my smiles with pleasant faces of their own. Unlike most districts, in District Four reaping day is actually a happy day. Usually all the tributes are volunteers, and they've come home plenty of times. That's the great thing about living in a career district, you really don't have to be afraid of the Hunger Games.

The stage is occupied by plenty of people. Gabrielle Niale, the escort, Shelly Verdure, the mayor, all seven of the past victors, and a couple of the victors.

Shelly goes through her speech, introduces the victors, and we watch a depressing little video about the uprising. Finally, it's time for the exciting part.

"Hello, everybody!" Gabrielle shouts. The voice is obviously fake.

"It is my _joy_ to welcome you to the 34th annual Hunger Games reaping."

It's a joyful day indeed. I get to go into the Hunger Games today, and bring back honor, riches, and fame. Fun!

I kinda zone out for the girls, but the one who volunteers is a nice looking girl named Aucara, who made a bad impression of herself when she interrupted Gabrielle. She's exotic looking, with deathly pale white skin and hair of a white color as well. She has the albino pigmentation disorder, as far as I can tell. She towers over the miniature woman that is Gabrielle, and her figure is toned and muscular, but not too bulky. The one thing I notice especially about her is her miraculous eyes. They show off on the screens, one icy blue and the other a sharp grey. This girl is not one to be forgotten.

Finally, it's the boys' turn. They pick out a name. It's not mine, so I do what many other boys are doing.

I run.

Up to the stage, and then by some miracle, I make it up first.

Gabrielle examines me up and down, and then asks for my name and age.

I give a large grin to the crowd, "Hi! I'm Kaden Clary, age 18, and I just volunteered for the Hunger Games!" Enthusiasm is my goal, and it seems I accomplished it.

I smile at Aucara, but she gives me a cold and emotionless facial reply. It doesn't bother me though, many people are distant and it takes them time to build friendships with them. I usually get these people to be my friends, and I hope that even though at least one of us is going to have to die, Aucara can still be my friend.

As Gabrielle continues to speak, Aucara's bright eyes go murky. She stumbles around, almost as if in a trance. I sort of get worried for her, wobbling around the stage.

"Hey! Hey you!" I call out, loud enough for her to hear but not at the volume that it would get picked up by the microphones. I step towards her, and call out again,

"Are you okay?"

I grab her shoulders before she falls of the edge of the stage and into the crowd of teenagers below.

Gabrielle steps between us, and gestures for us to shake hands. I gladly put out mine, but Aucara is a little reluctant. She has a look on her face, a mixture of slight guilt and... Is that embarrassment? I'm not very good at detecting subtle emotions like that, so with a wink of my right eye and a tilt of my head, I walk gladly next to the peacekeepers who lead me off the stage. I'll figure Aucara out later, but now, I have to say goodbye to _everybody_ I know, and that's a _lot_ of friends to say farewell to.

I'm in a fairly sized room, complete with couches and portraits of past mayors on the walls. Not even a second goes by until my family bursts in. Mom and Dad are all smiles, and they smell like their fishing boat. Kalana is smiling, despite the fact that her personality is that of cardboard. Nice cardboard of course. My little sisters are extremely happy, but they don't know what I'm getting myself into.

My family is followed by my closest friends, and then my other friends, and then my other other friends. The room is filled with people, all wanting to spend time with _me_! I'm flattered to say the least.

I receive hugs, and pats on the back. Everyone is in a bittersweet mood, and I understand.

"Congratulations Kaden!"

"Good luck!"

"We're rooting for you!"

The whole hour is filled with smiles and happy goodbyes to my loved ones. Of course, the goodbyes can't be ones that are forever. I'm going to see them again, I just know it!

I'm hugged numerous times. A couple of times, I get choked up, but it's all in good fun.

After everyone clears out, I'm left with just my family for the final seven minutes. Kalla isn't happy, she understands what the Hunger Games are about. Koda is really excited, and Kirami isn't showing much emotion as usual.

"Kadey, you're going to win! Win the Hunger Games! Win win win!" I spin Koda around on my shoulders and she squeals and cheers from up so high.

"Shut up. Just- UGH! I don't see how you all are so happy about Kaden going to a place where he's probably going to die!" Kalla cries. She's nine, and she doesn't fully understanding what kind of honor winning is. I love Kalla, but she can be a pain in the patootie sometimes.

"Just know that we are proud of you and that we're going to be even prouder when you win," Dad smiles. He and my mom aren't really very close to me as my cousin or my sisters, but nonetheless I love them just as much. The fishing boat they work on goes out to sea for four months, and then comes home for two weeks, and they just recently got back.

I'm given a five minute warning, and then I give out individual hugs for my entire family.

"Okay, it's time to go now," one of the peacekeepers commands. My vision goes blurry for a second, and then I blink back the oncoming tears.

"You were never one for holding back your emotion. Just make sure that you don't do that in the games. Try hard, you worked for this title and now you're going to get it," Kalana calls out on her way out.

The door closes, and I'm left alone.

Alone.

For the first time in my life, I'm going to a place where I don't know anybody. No friends.

_But I can make new ones of course!_ I remind myself. Aucara seems like an interesting girl to get to know, if she's open to my friendship.

I'm led out by some peacekeepers, who keep wanting me to hurry up. I slow down just for kicks. One of them looks like he wants to slap me, so I hurry up just as he raises his hand. I give him a hi-five, leaving all of the peacekeepers utterly surprised and amused.

The walk to the car thingy that we need to ride in to get to the train thingy is long and _boring_, especially now that there's even more tension between the peacekeepers and me. We meet up with Aucara and her troop of peacekeepers, and I grin and wave a little bit. She doesn't give a positive response, so I shut up and keep walking. Also, it's not good to make conversation around the peacekeepers, it would be awkward and weird.

The walk is silent until we reach the empty car. Aucara steps in and takes the seat by the far window, and I sit right next to her. The peacekeepers slam the door shut, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"I thought they would never leave!" I sigh.

She stares at me blankly, and I decide to make some other conversation, "The peacekeeper kept on telling me to walk faster and shut up... it made me want to just smack him! Of course, I didn't. But he literally raised his hand and I swear he was about to! He didn't, though. I gave him a high five for that."

She cracks a little smile: Mission accomplished.

"Finally," I laugh, in response to her grin.

"Oh wait. You don't even know me. Actually, _I_ don't know _you_." I shake my head. "How is that even possible? I know _everybody._ And everybody that was excited about the reapings was at the crab festival last night." I look back at her, and tilt my head.

"You look tough, you've been training, haven't you?"

She nods, confirming my suspicions that she's a career tribute like myself.

"So... Why weren't you there? Anybody who wanted to come could have..." I say in response to my previous comment about the crab festival. It was really fun, and I thought that everybody who was anybody would have been there!

Aucara gives a somewhat cold reply, "No reason."

I stick out my hand for a handshake, "I'm Kaden Clary, by the way. Although you already knew that... the reaping and everything." She stares at my hand for a moment, before taking it.

Not getting a response, I try again with conversation, "And you are...?"

She sighs again. Oh well, we can't all be social, and I really have no other choice to respect her introversion.

"Were you not paying attention during the reaping?" She asks.

I snort, "Does anybody? I mean, they've played the exact same video every single year. After watching that 8 times... well let's just say that there are better things to be doing. The only interesting part is seeing our escorts new outfit. They get more ridiculous every year!"

But before Aucara can reply with her opinion on our circus-y escort, she comes right over, hobbling in her heels. I decide to tune out for some time, only making small talk and faces at Gabrielle when she isn't looking.

The Hunger Games are going to be fun, I just know it!


End file.
